The Shattered Court

by M. J. Scott

“So the attack was magical?”

  “Most likely. To do so much damage . . . Well, perhaps gunpowder and other things could achieve it, but you’d need an awful lot of it. Magic seems more likely.”

  “Illvyan?”

  He shrugged, reaching for a roll. “That remains to be seen.”

  She bit into her roll, chewed, swallowed. Reached for more tea. “What do you think will happen if they find out?”

  Cameron shook his head. “That is entirely up to the queen-to-be.”

  When Sophie reached Eloisa’s chambers, she wasn’t greeted by the flock of ladies-in-waiting in the antechamber. Instead, the door to the bedroom stood open and the sound of excited voices turned the air into the familiar high-pitched chatter she was used to when the ladies were in full flight.

  A glance through the doorway confirmed that the bedroom was full. Over the heads of the four ladies closest to the door, she thought she saw Eloisa’s bright red head leaning against the embroidered headboard. But that made no sense. Her head had still been bandaged last night. She pushed her way past the ladies without thinking.

  “Milady, are you recovered?”

  The chatter in the room died as all eyes focused on her. She ignored the sudden scrutiny, focusing instead on Eloisa, who was indeed free of bandages. On her face at least. Bruises still marked her skin—though more green-yellow than vivid purple now. Her hair was shorter than it had been, cut off to nearly shoulder length. To hide the damage from burns perhaps? But it was clean, and Lady Beata stood close to the bed with a hairbrush.

  Eloisa looked at Sophie, and for a moment there was warmth in her green eyes. But then her expression turned shuttered and controlled. “A little,” she said.

  “She is doing much better,” Lady Beata chirped, dark eyes also focused on Sophie.

  Sophie wondered why everyone was staring at her, then realized that they were wondering if she had anything to do with the rapid improvement in Eloisa’s health. And therefore wondering exactly what powers she had manifested.

  Most of the temple witches had healing skills to a degree, but usually the magic was used to increase the effectiveness of the herbs and other medicines they used. There were stories of the early days of Anglion. Of saints of the goddess who could heal just by touch, but those were legends. No one had shown such powers in centuries. Much like no royal witch had been able to call the weather.

  “She is,” Domina Skey said, moving into view from behind another of the ladies. Sophie started. She hadn’t noticed the Domina. She controlled the movement with a force of will, ignoring the sudden urge to move farther away from the woman who rose in the wake of the initial surprise. The Domina was no one to be scared of. She was intimidating, yes, but she was a servant of the goddess. Dedicated to the good of Anglion and its people.

  Still, the calculating look in the Domina’s brown eyes made her want to run away as she heard the words from last night again in her head. The casual dismissal. The lack of concern that whatever she had done had left Sophie unconscious on the floor.

  “Ladies,” Domina Skey said with a wave of her hand. “The queen-to-be had matters to discuss with Lady Sophia. Leave us, please.”

  Sophie was somewhat dismayed to see how readily they followed the Domina’s instructions, filing from the room without waiting for confirmation of the order from Eloisa. Eloisa, who was queen-to-be. Who was the one in charge.

  The Domina’s influence had grown quickly in the days since the attack, it seemed. Or perhaps the ladies were just grateful to have someone take charge in uncertain times. But regardless of why, they shouldn’t just be blindly following the Domina’s orders. She had done that last night and ended up on the floor. She needed to be more cautious. The Domina was the servant of the goddess, yes, but they all needed to remember that she was merely human as well, subject to human desires, perhaps. Like ambition. Ambition to seize influence over a young, inexperienced, and injured queen? King Stefan had been respectful to the temple, and the Domina had been consulted where appropriate, but his closest councilors came from the men of the court. Erls and barrons. Nobles and warriors like himself. But Eloisa wasn’t a warrior. She was a royal witch. Dedicated to the country and the goddess. So the Domina bore watching. If Eloisa didn’t realize that now because of her injuries, well, then Sophie would have to watch for her. Wait for a chance to speak if she decided it was necessary.

  She watched Beata, last to leave as usual, close the door, her expression wildly curious. Sophie didn’t think she would be able to escape being interrogated by the ladies-in-waiting much longer. But she would keep her mouth firmly closed until the queen-to-be gave her leave to discuss her betrothal.

  “Come here,” the Domina said after they had heard the thunk of the latch falling into place on the other side of the door. Sophie moved closer, trying not to reveal her caution. The Domina waved at the door, and a ward shimmered into life over it. Keeping them in or shielding them from listening ears? A shiver ran down her spine. The Domina could do anything she wanted, really. The queen-to-be was too ill to stop her, and Sophie had nowhere near enough control of her powers yet.

  The Domina bent over the queen-to-be. “I need to remove the bandages on your arm. See how the burn is healing.”

  Eloisa winced a little but nodded. Sophie held her breath. Burns were hard to treat. She’d assisted her mother tending to women on the estate who’d burned themselves with hearth fires or kitchen accidents. The pain of the injuries had been hard to watch. Her mother had tended to err on the side of dosing them liberally with the strongest pain tonics they could brew, which could be a risky strategy.

  The other complication with burns was that the wounds grew infected easily. Even if infection was escaped, there was inevitably scarring. There were liniments and salves that could prevent the worst of it, but Sophie had never seen anyone walk away from a serious burn fully recovered. Would Eloisa carry the scars of the attack her whole life?

  Before she could worry too much, the Domina told her to fetch a basin and bandages from the table on the far side of the room, which was littered with bottles of tonics and potions, small jars of powders, and piles of dressings. Sophie watched, trying not to wince as the Domina eased the bandage free from Eloisa’s arm. The burn revealed was raw-looking but not as bad as Sophie had expected. She leaned a little closer, watching carefully as the Domina gently cleaned the damaged skin. If Sophie hadn’t known better, she would have guessed the wound had been healing for several weeks.

  “Has the pain improved?” the Domina asked.

  Eloisa glanced at Sophie. “Yes. It’s far less today.” She looked back at the Domina. “Is this because of what we discussed earlier?”

  Sophie kept her eyes fixed on the basin she held. Had they been talking about her? About what the Domina had done—not that Sophie was entirely clear what that might have been. The Domina dropped the cotton she had been using back into the basin.

  “I think so. But it warrants another experiment.”

  Sophie’s stomach curled uneasily. She didn’t like the sound of that. Or of the speculative expression on the Domina’s face when she risked looking up.

  “Return the basin and then come back here,” the Domina ordered.

  Her heartbeat doubled as she made the journey to the table and back. She couldn’t walk slowly, couldn’t appear reluctant, though her nerves shrieked at her to do exactly that. She had to trust the queen-to-be. Sophie was sworn to serve her. She would honor her vow. She was too aware of her chest rising and falling fast against the restrictive dress and corset as she returned to the Domina’s side.

  “Give me your hand.”

  It was worse the second time. The searing surge of power came faster and stronger, setting her nerves alight with the feeling of fire. There was no hesitation in the Domina’s demand on her power or her connection to the earth magic or whatever it was she was using. She just dragged the power up through Sophie like she was calling a lightning bolt up from the earth beneath So
phie’s feet. Sophie fought to breathe, to remember who she was. To remember why she was trying to stand there and take this. The pain ricocheted and echoed, seeming to double with each hard-won breath, until she dissolved into nothing but the pain and light, a flare of hard, gold sensation that licked at her and bit until, once again, she lost the fight.

  This time when she woke, it was to the sound of voices. The Domina’s and Eloisa’s. Somehow, through the memory of pain and the exhaustion that made her want nothing more than to surrender back to the darkness, she managed to tell herself to stay very still.

  If you are awake, they’ll stop talking, a voice from somewhere deep in her mind said. You’ll learn nothing. Do not move.

  It seemed as sensible a plan as any other. She lay quietly, keeping her breaths slow and shallow, drawing on the skills she’d used to fool her little brothers when they’d wanted to wake her up early. Her mother had forbidden them from waking her if she was sleeping, so the ability to feign sleep came in useful on the mornings when she couldn’t face a near-dawn excursion to chase frogs or whatever crazed plan occupied their boyish brains for the day. She let her brain focus on the voices above her.

  “—have an explanation for this?” Eloisa said. Her voice was clear. Strong. As it had always sounded. Was she healed? Sophie almost lifted her head but stopped herself.

  “I have a theory,” the Domina said. “But not an explanation. I would have to search the archives to see if there are precedents.”

  “That sounds time-consuming. Tell me your theory for now. We’ll start from there.”

  “I think it’s because she’s unbound.” The voice was blunt. “Normally, the binding locks a certain portion of power to the goddess. For the temple to call upon. But she—” There was a pause, and Sophie tried to look as asleep as possible, wondering if the Domina was looking at her. And if she was ever going to call her something other than “she” in a tone of disgust.

  “She is unbound. So there is no limit to the power I can access through her.”

  “Wouldn’t it be limited by her power?”

  “She seems to be strong. But using her as a channel is different from drawing on her power directly. That takes blood or . . .” She trailed off.

  “Water magic,” Eloisa said.

  Sophie clenched her teeth, determined not to react. No one ever mentioned the fourth art in public. It was forbidden here. Water magic was the magic of the Illvyan mages and their demon sanctii. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. Wild. Anathema to the goddess, by the law of the temple and the land.

  “Exactly,” agreed the Domina, as if they were discussing nothing more important than the weather. “Though she is so open, there is no need to try a different approach.”

  “It doesn’t seem to be so good for her,” Eloisa observed. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

  “She is sworn to you. Yours to command. Given that she cannot be bound, I think you need to keep her on a tight leash, milady. Make her understand who is in control. Before she becomes a threat.”

  “A threat? Sophie? She’s sweet. Hardly a threat.”

  “That was before. Now she is unbound. And much higher in the succession. If others discover her power, then she could become a useful tool for them. A focus. The court is unsettled, and you need to take control. And keep it. Which means it would be foolish not to master any . . . advantage offered to you.”

  “Still,” Eloisa said. “Wouldn’t it be better to bind her? It’s always safer to remove a wild card. If she’s married to the Mackenzie boy, then her children will be further down the line. The Mackenzies lack the blood direct.”

  “I agree with the marriage. That keeps the illusion intact. But I have not found another way to bind her yet.”

  “Keep looking,” Eloisa said.

  “I will,” the Domina said. “But until then, I recommend you treat her with the caution she warrants.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cameron gave up on sleep after a few hours of fitful tossing and turning. Apparently, the redwort was still in his system. He had hours before he had to report for duty, but if he stayed where he was, he had no doubt Liam would be grilling him more about his unexpected betrothal. Or worse, about estate matters, now that their father was dead.

  Cameron was in no mood to discuss his father yet. Or what his death might mean for Cameron himself. He was near certain that Liam would raise the possibility, or rather the command couched as a possibility, of his leaving the Red Guard and taking over one of the family properties. Either that or stay and play courtier with his royal witch wife. Better, perhaps, to go outside, try to get some exercise, and see if he could wear the last of the ’wort from his system before he wound up having to take another dose.

  He slipped out of Liam’s apartment and headed toward the westward rose garden. In the tail end of summer, the flowers were past their best and the heat pooled in the stone walls, making it less popular with the court, so he might be undisturbed there to walk and think.

  He would prefer to ride, of course, but he needed his horse rested in case he was assigned to something more active than guarding the still convalescent queen-to-be.

  And there was something else better not thought about.

  In truth, he hadn’t really thought about Eloisa today. Sophie had been on his mind, though. He’d thought her hair redder at breakfast, a reminder of what she had become.

  A royal witch. Soon to be his wife. Sharing his bed.

  Despite the lingering guilt over Eloisa, he found himself increasingly thinking of his wedding night. Of another taste of Sophie.

  Who was standing smack-dab in the middle of the rose garden, right beside the place where one of the ley lines cut the garden in half.

  He made himself stay a safe distance away. Eager or not, they couldn’t afford a repeat of what had happened in Caloteen. Particularly not here in the middle of the palace grounds, where they were guaranteed to be seen.

  The queen-to-be would not thank him for breaching her trust, and he rather suspected that Domina Skey would try to skin him alive.

  “Milady, it might be best if you stayed a little farther away from the ley line for now,” he called.

  Sophie jumped and turned. Her face seemed alarmingly pale in the sunlight, the red tinge in her hair even more obvious against the faded gold tone of her skin. She swayed as he turned, and he stopped thinking and moved to catch her before she fell.

  She protested as he reached her, lifted her, and carried her over to the nearest bench. It was a wrench to let her go, but he made himself do it. Too risky to keep her in his arms. Instead he crouched by her legs, keeping hold of her hands, which were icy despite the heat of the day.

  “Sophie, what’s wrong?” he said.

  She shook her head. Tried to tug her hands free. “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you.” In fact, he fancied he could feel the lie in the pulse of her power moving through him. “You’re freezing, and it’s roasting out here. What happened? Did you touch the ley line again?”

  “N-no,” she said, teeth half chattering. “I tried, but I couldn’t reach it.”

  “Couldn’t?” That didn’t sound good. He tugged off his jacket, which was too damned hot anyway, despite its being court wear made of linen rather than the wool of his uniform, and settled it around her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “The Domina, she said I needed to. After. And I tried, but I couldn’t.”

  “The Domina told you to touch the ley line?” He tried not to let the surprise show in his voice. Battle mages had their contact with ley lines strictly controlled until they could demonstrate that they had control of their magic. To avoid the sort of thing that had happened to him and Sophie or other more deadly accidents. A newly minted royal witch, especially one who hadn’t been bound to the goddess—whatever that meant—was even more likely to come to grief if she were exposed to too much power. “Sophie? Is that right?”

  Sophie nodded, shivering again.

  �
�Why? What did she do?” The only reason to tap a ley line directly, unless you were going to attempt something that required a hell of a lot of power, the sort of thing someone with Sophie’s lack of experience should not be attempting, was to replenish your energy when it had been drained by magic.

  “She was helping the princess,” Sophie said, voice still shaky.

  The “princess,” not the “queen-to-be,” Cameron noted. Whatever had happened, it was clear that Sophie was indeed near exhaustion. So she needed the ley line but couldn’t access it?

  “All right,” he said. He wanted to ask more questions, but that could wait until she didn’t look as though she was about to faint. “We can try together. Has the Domina taught you about how to share power safely?” They had done it before, after all. But that had been wild and uncontrolled. He hoped that the Domina had taught her some modicum of control in the lessons she’d had since then.

  Sophie nodded, but her eyes were unfocused.

  He glanced over at the ley line. Fuck. There were no good alternatives. He could try to fetch a temple devout or another of the court ladies who had small powers, but by then Sophie would probably have passed out. He picked her up again and carried her back over to the ley line. Put her down on the grass and sat between her and it. He took her hand in his left and, gingerly, reached his hand into the faint red light.

  The power tingled like standing in the middle of a storm.

  He let it run through him, didn’t touch it with the part of him that used magic, sent it toward Sophie. “Can you feel that?”

  She nodded.

  “Then take it,” he said.

  There was a buzz and then the ghost of a faint snap in the palm of his right hand where her fingers lay. Then he felt the power start to flow into her. Slowly. Too slowly, he thought as another bout of shivers shook her body. More contact. She needed more contact. Skin on skin was easiest, and the more skin the better, but he could hardly strip her here in the garden. So instead he did the next best thing he could think of and, after tapping a small thread of power to throw up a ward that might obscure them from vision if he was lucky, leaned forward and kissed her.